


Unforgettable

by silentdescant, Sulwen



Series: First Mistakes, Second Chances [2]
Category: Glam Rock RPF, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, First Meetings, M/M, Sex Club, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The floor clears out, except for a handful of regulars Ian recognizes and a few people at the bar. And one boy Ian hasn't seen before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unforgettable

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little teaser for the sequel to our LBB fic, _When Love Fails._ This isn't the full fic, just a taste of the characters we've been dying to write!

Ian pauses for a moment to shake out the tense muscles in his arm, readjust his grip on the leather handle of the flogger. The girl’s back is nicely pink all over, with just a few areas of deeper color where the marks have overlapped the most. She’s breathing loudly through her open mouth now, no longer clenching her teeth and hissing when the leather makes contact with her skin. She’s had enough. Ian reaches out with his free hand and gently draws his finger along one of the raised marks, feeling for her immediate shudder. He presses his palm more firmly to her shoulder blade, letting the heat sink into his own skin, and then moves his hand to the cuff binding her left wrist.

“So lovely,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soothing in her ear. “So good for me, sweetheart, so perfect. Stay still now.”

He tucks the handle of the flogger into his back pocket and uses both hands to massage her wrist as it’s freed. The girl doesn’t move when he places her hand down at her side, just stands still and waits for him to free her other arm. He walks around behind her and pets her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. She seems to appreciate the constant touch, and Ian doesn’t want to stray too far, not yet. When she’s finally standing on her own, Ian turns her around and cups her face in both hands, bringing her chin up to study her expression.

Her face is flushed, and she’s still catching her breath, but her eyes are clear and focused. He feels a little twinge of pride and smiles down at her. Just right. “How do you feel?” he asks. “Want me to stay a little longer?”

She shakes her head and returns his smile, laughing high and light. “No, sir, it’s okay -- my friends are waiting for me. But wow, _thank you_. That was just what I needed tonight.”

Someone -- one of her friends -- steps up to the cross and holds out the girl’s shirt, and Ian helps her stretch it over her head, laying the fabric gently against her back. He smooths it down with one hand and she shivers, lip caught between her teeth, but she takes her friend’s hand and gives Ian a little nod of thanks as she’s pulled away. She’ll be fine.

Ian rubs a hand over his face, brushing back through his hair. His body is tense, but pleasantly so, with the ache of using muscles he hasn’t exercised in a while. The scene with the girl gave him no release, but it’s a familiar frustration. He won’t find what he’s looking for here, and yet he keeps coming back. Hoping, maybe.

He goes through the motions of cleaning up, hardly thinking about it as he wipes down the cross, the cuffs, the flogger. The smell of disinfectant spreads sharply in the air, and for a moment he’s lost in memory. He can almost see it, Ben waiting for him as he took care of the necessary steps, leaving the equipment safe and ready for the next scene. He would be fidgeting, as always, maybe speaking out of turn. Still begging for attention even as his back was flaring hot, still wanting more. Ben had never been good at waiting.

Ian shakes himself and turns away from the cross, returning the flogger to its proper place and heading for the bar. He doesn’t know why he keeps coming here when everything just reminds him of Ben, why he can’t just let it _go_. It’s been almost six months. Six months alone, and he’s been here countless times. Dabbling. Looking. But...if he hasn’t found what he’s looking for in all that time, maybe it just doesn’t exist. Maybe no one else will be able to catch his attention like Ben had -- more than just another scene, another smack of leather on flesh.

He rubs his hands over his face and orders himself a drink. Maybe he shouldn’t come back. But this place is home just as much as the house he’ll go back to alone tonight. And...he catches a glimpse of his girl leaving with her friends, the careful way she moves and the sated smile on her face. It’s not what he wants, exactly, but it’s so much better than nothing.

Ian positions himself so he can keep an eye on the main part of the floor, his eyes sliding over a few developing scenes with casual curiosity, but mostly looking around the edges, watching the voyeurs, tracking interesting-looking people around the fringes of the room. He recognizes several people, most of them mingling rather than playing, but there’s one boy he hasn’t seen before, one boy that catches his attention. He stands apart from the others, pressed back against the wall, but his white-blond hair is easy to spot even in the shadows. He’s a beautiful boy, darkly lined eyes and delicate features. He’s small, too, and he’s dressed completely in black. If he’s here to play, Ian decides to step up, but for now the boy stays in the background, not socializing and brushing off the advances he receives. Ian wonders if he’s waiting for someone.

The boy doesn’t seem to notice him watching, and Ian doesn’t want to go where he’s not wanted, so he stays at the bar, surveying the rest of the club. He doesn’t drink a lot, but he uses the glass to keep busy, and to keep people away. If someone needs him, asks for him, he’ll offer a scene, but until then, he’s content to stay alone and unbothered, people-watching.

He loves it here, even without a sub of his own to accompany him. Two seats down from him, a woman in black latex chats casually with the bartender as she holds the leash of a man kneeling at the foot of her bar stool. Across the room, he can see a group scene just starting to take off -- a woman bound in the stocks with a small group of people surrounding her, hard men and women wearing strap-ons, anticipation in their eyes as they wait for their turn with her. Her Dom sits where she can see him, watching her face as she’s used again and again. At the door, Ian can see one of the club owners talking animatedly to the bouncer, probably scolding him about getting too friendly with the customers again. She catches Ian’s eye and waves to him across the room before turning back to the bouncer, and Ian waves back even as he’s shuddering a little in sympathy for the man. Jenna is tiny and beautiful and one of the fiercest Dommes he’s ever met -- he wouldn’t want to be on the wrong since of one of her scoldings.

He watches for a long time, but none of the sights really hold Ian’s attention, and eventually the electric atmosphere of the club starts winding down. The floor clears out, except for a handful of regulars Ian recognizes and a few people at the bar. And that blond boy. He’s been flitting around the back of the club all night, sticking to the dark corners and less crowded play areas, but never putting himself forward for a scene. But he still hasn’t gone home. Maybe he hasn’t found what he’s looking for either. Ian entertains the idea of offering the boy a drink, a chance to commiserate, but with the way the boy’s been turning down offers all night, Ian suspects he won’t have any luck.

The boy’s bright hair falling across half his face, hiding his wide, dark eyes, is by far the most interesting thing in the room, and Ian watches him from afar, satisfied enough by cataloguing the kid’s actions to keep from approaching and spooking him. He looks young, almost too young to be here, and the self-conscious way he’s holding himself isn’t helping. The twitching and near-constant playing with his hair just makes him seem like a child, play-acting and trying to fit in with the adults.

It’s surely his first time in this club, from the way he’s been staring at the regulars, but now that it’s less crowded, he seems more taken by the equipment than the people. Ian watches him slowly approach a St. Andrew’s Cross set against the back wall. He’s curious about how the boy will react, curious about what he’s thinking, and Ian slides off his bar stool and walks in a wide circle. He wants the kid to see him coming.

The boy tucks his hair behind his ear and cocks his head, studying the cuff on one arm of the cross. He reaches up and traces it with one finger, then slides his finger to the inside. Ian knows the cross well, and he knows those particular cuffs are heavily padded, soft on the inside. The boy seems surprised at the texture, pressing his fingertips into the padding over and over again. Ian wonders if he’s imagining what they would feel like on his own wrists, and oh, that’s just a pretty image. It’s the easiest thing in the world to imagine him spread out on the cross, cuffed in place, naked for Ian’s gaze. He considers, for a moment, approaching and asking the boy if that’s something he wants, something Ian could maybe give to him. But as he comes closer, the boy startles and snatches his hand away from the cuffs, looking around almost guiltily, as if he’s been doing something wrong. He catches Ian looking at him, and for just a second, wide brown eyes lock on his own. Then the boy turns his face away again, tilting his head down, hiding behind his hair, and suddenly Ian’s curiosity becomes unbearable.

New. Brand-new, never had a rough touch in his life. The idea is fascinating, and he finds that he very much wants to be the first. Wants it enough to take a chance. Ian steps up to the opposite side of the cross, slow enough to give the kid ample opportunity to bolt, then reaches for the cuff on his side. He tugs it gently, pulling the links tight.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. “Of course, the look isn’t the only thing. The sounds it makes when it’s being used...the creak of the leather and the scrape of the metal...” The boy’s eyes are on him again, staring. He’s wearing so much dark makeup, sparkling silver and deep purples and blacks, heavy on his eyelids, and it’s painted on with a very careful hand. Ian wonders if the boy did it himself or if he has someone... a girl, maybe, or a partner? A master? Someone to dress up for.

“Yeah, okay,” he replies quietly, and Ian realizes the boy’s older than he looks. Ian catches the fear in his brown eyes before they close, turn away. He has to stop himself from taking the boy’s chin and forcing him up again. He wants to study those eyes.

Now that he’s had a moment of interaction, Ian recognizes the vibe he’s getting; the boy isn’t looking to get off, not exactly. Ian thinks that maybe the fear is just because it’s all so new. Maybe this is all just an experiment, an exploration.

“First time?” he asks, keeping his tone neutral and casual. Until he’s sure of what the boy is looking for, he doesn’t want to offer anything. He drops his hands to his sides and relaxes his posture, making himself approachable, nonthreatening.

The boy turns his head sharply, sending his hair back across his face. Hiding. His shoulders lift into a quick shrug. “I don’t know,” he says softly. Ian leans closer to hear him. “It’s complicated.”

 _Complicated_. “Okay,” Ian replies. That isn’t the answer he expected. He wants to know more, wants to understand, but he decides to stick to easy questions. “Have you been here before?”

He catches a glimpse of those deep brown eyes through the blond curtain of hair. “No.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tommy,” the boy says, then bites his lip hard, like he hadn’t meant to answer. Ian understands that. This is LA -- connections mean everything.

Ian ducks his head down, tries to meet Tommy’s gaze. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter who you are here. This is a safe space.”

“Safe,” Tommy whispers. “I doubt it.”

Ian’s taken aback by Tommy’s attitude. He doesn’t recognize Tommy, not his hair or his makeup or his head-to-toe skintight black outfit, and he doesn’t think he’s so out of touch with pop culture that he wouldn’t recognize someone really famous. But maybe it’s not fame that’s worrying Tommy. Maybe it’s his friends. Maybe he isn’t out. Ian wants to know, wants to _ask_ , but that’s not a very casual topic. Not the kind of thing you ask someone you just met, even in a kink club, and Tommy hasn’t really invited him to ask more. But he hasn’t pushed Ian away, either, and that’s something. Ian takes a steadying breath. Tommy seems so skittish, so unsure -- like if Ian says the wrong thing, makes the wrong move, he’ll just plain _run_. And yet he’s still here, quiet, like he’s waiting. Waiting for Ian to figure him out.

“What makes you say that?” Ian asks slowly. “I don’t know what kind of places you’re used to, but things aren’t like that here.”

Tommy looks uncomfortable, cheeks flushed pink, and doesn’t answer. Ian’s getting a very clear submissive vibe from him, but otherwise, Tommy’s so quiet and hard to read that Ian’s not sure how to react. Tommy’s obviously waiting for him to take control, but he doesn’t want to take control in the wrong way, and he isn’t sure what the _right_ way is. He doesn’t want to scare Tommy away, and Tommy hasn’t been very forthcoming with his answers to Ian’s questions. Maybe he doesn’t know the answers himself.

Ian, though, knows exactly what he wants, almost can’t believe how strong the desire hits him. He wants to reach out and brush Tommy’s hair out of his face, expose all the conflicting emotions showing so clearly in his eyes. He wants to scrub that picture-perfect makeup off Tommy’s eyelids, wants to see the real color of his skin underneath. He wants to put Tommy on his knees and _feed_ him, whatever he wants, whatever he likes, anything to fill out the too-thin hollowness in his cheeks. And, if Tommy wants, he wants to strap him up to this cross and show him exactly how it feels, how it _sounds_ under the weight of use. How different it is to _do_ than to _watch_.

He turns to face Tommy and looks toward his downturned eyes, wishing again he could raise Tommy’s face, keep him from hiding. His hands tense a moment and then relax, and he speaks instead. Just an offer. Just if Tommy wants.

“If you tell me what you want, I can help you find it.” He wants to explain more, tell Tommy exactly what he can find here, but he cuts himself off. No pushing. Not with this one. 

Tommy curls one arm up against his own chest in an odd gesture, letting the backs of his fingers rest against his neck, and stares at the cross. “I was, um...watching you. Earlier. With that girl,” he mumbles.

Ian raises his eyebrows. Flogging isn’t the kink he expected to hear. Tommy’s so new, obviously inexperienced, and Ian doesn’t want to push him past his limits before Tommy even knows what his limits are.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Tommy asks, not meeting Ian’s gaze.

“No,” Ian says simply.

“Then... what? Is she your... What is she?”

“She’s not mine,” Ian explains. “I don’t even know her.”

“But you...” Tommy takes a short, sharp breath. “Then why did you do that to her?”

“Because she asked me to,” Ian says. Tommy’s brow wrinkles as he takes this in, but he doesn’t respond otherwise. After a moment of tense silence, Ian says, carefully, “You could ask me for something too, if you want.”

Tommy hesitates, but finally he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t...” Then he goes quiet again, a guilty look on his face like he’s broken a rule.

Ian tilts his head, studying him, but he can’t figure out the reason for Tommy’s expression. Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants. That’s okay; Ian can work with that. He follows his instincts. “Something else, then. Are you hungry? You want me to get you a bite to eat?” he asks. In a perfect world, Tommy would want Ian to feed him, kneel at his feet and take his food from Ian’s fingers bite by bite, but mostly Ian just wants him to eat. He looks half-starved.

To his surprise, Tommy does meet his eyes then, looking up at Ian with an unreadable expression -- his eyes wide, his lips just slightly parted, his body completely frozen in place, almost fearful, but not quite. This is something different than before. A new reaction. Ian’s struck something inside Tommy, but it’s not clear if Tommy likes it or hates it. He’s suddenly so closed-off, even moreso than before. Ian finds it intriguing, this strange reaction, and he doesn’t want to look away. He finally realizes that Tommy just looks _overwhelmed_. And he can’t have that.

He lets himself relax a little, lets the persona drop, and smiles tentatively. “Or I could just buy you a drink?”

“I don’t drink,” Tommy says quickly. But it’s not a rejection, and suddenly some of Tommy’s earlier behaviors make more sense. Ian nods his understanding, careful to keep his expression open and nonjudgmental, but Tommy isn’t looking at him. He’s staring down at the floor between his feet, stretching the material of his shirt sleeves down over his hands, discomfort practically bleeding out of him. Ian wants to put his hand over Tommy’s smaller ones, quietly comfort him with a gentle touch, but that’s a line he’s not willing to cross without Tommy’s express permission. Instead, he runs his hand along the arm of the cross again, gentle, almost reverent, watching his fingers as they go. It’s obviously a sensitive subject. Best to give Tommy a little distance, a break from his searching eyes.

“That’s good, Tommy,” he says. “Congratulations. I quit smoking ten years ago and I still get the craving sometimes. I know it’s hard.”

“Hard. Yeah,” Tommy says darkly. “How do you do it? _Ten years_? How do you keep from giving in?” he asks, his voice tight and breathless. Ian’s sure now that Tommy’s craving a drink. It explains so much. The twitching, the nervousness. Ian suspects alcohol may have been a crutch for Tommy, in situations like these, and without that crutch, he’s stumbling.

“I know that I’m better without it,” Ian replies. “And that giving in would just hurt me in the long run. I don’t want to hurt myself.”

Tommy’s eyes drop down to his hands, and there’s a soft wrinkle between his eyebrows, like he wants to say something but can’t think of the words. His breath shakes when he exhales, and it almost seems like he’s shutting himself down, putting up a wall between himself and Ian. He even hunches his shoulders and fades backwards, pressed against the wall behind him. Ian fights down the panic and takes a deep breath. He wants Tommy to speak again. He wants him to open up. He can make that happen. He’s sure of it.

“Water, then?” he asks. He needs it, but he doesn’t want to leave Tommy alone. This is the most interesting interaction he’s had since...and just then, Ian realizes he hasn’t thought of Ben once since spotting Tommy in the corner of the club, hiding in the shadows and turning everyone who approached him away. Suddenly, this feels like more than a random club meeting. This feels _important_.

“I’m not thirsty,” Tommy whispers, clearly lying since he licks his lips and swallows. Ian hasn’t seen him drink anything all night. He must be dehydrated. Ian takes a deep breath. So much this boy _needs_...if Tommy was his, they’d be having a long talk about him taking better care of himself, starting right now.

“You’re not?” Ian asks, grasping at straws. “Maybe we could--” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, and Ian stops, clenches his hands into fists, and straightens his shoulders. He can feel his time slipping away, like a countdown. When Tommy leaves, the clock reaches zero, and... Ian doesn’t know what happens at zero. He just knows he doesn’t want that clock to run out.

“It’s getting late,” he says calmly, “but I’d really like to see you again, Tommy. Could we meet here another night, maybe? I could show you around.”

Tommy flinches, almost like he’s been slapped, recoiling away from Ian but coming back in the next second, leaning in and breathing hard through flaring nostrils. His eyes look suspiciously red and watery, and Ian’s heart clenches in his chest. _Fuck_.

“I don’t want to be shown around,” he snaps. “I don’t want a fucking drink. I don’t know what I’m even doing here, okay? Just leave me alone. I just wanted to see. I don’t need this, I can’t... I can’t do this again. I shouldn’t have come. This was such a bad idea. I’m gonna get in so much fucking trouble--”

Tommy’s voice is rising in both pitch and volume, and Ian instinctively reaches for him to calm him down. His fingers brush Tommy’s arm, briefly press against his firm bicep, but Tommy thrashes violently, twisting out of Ian’s reach and slapping his hand away. He freezes immediately after, staring up at Ian with a horrified expression.

Ian shakes his head. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have--”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, okay? You’re...” Tommy trails off and runs his hands over his face, smearing his perfect makeup. “I just can’t.”

Ian has to ask. _Has to_. “Why not?”

Tommy cuts his eyes away. “Same reason you can’t have a smoke, and I can’t have a fucking drink. It’s not good for me. I... fuck, I have to go. I’m going. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“Ruin my...” Ian starts, but Tommy’s gone before he can finish the question. Ian tracks his progress through the club as Tommy skirts around the play areas and makes a beeline for the door. Once he disappears, Ian’s shoulders slump. So much for taking a chance. He feels like he’s failed, and he can’t help but play their interactions back in his mind, searching for all his mistakes. He shouldn’t have touched Tommy. He shouldn’t have offered him anything. Probably shouldn’t have approached him at all. He’s usually so good at reading people, knowing what they need... It’s part of what makes him a good Dom. But there’s something about Tommy that he can’t seem to get right, and now he’ll never have the chance to try again.

As much as he hopes Tommy will come back to this club, he doubts it will happen. Better to just forget about him. Put it out of his head. Go back to what he’s been doing -- just getting along and trying to put Ben behind him, find his place again in this scene.

Still...he finds himself looking, the next night, for a shock of blond hair and a too-thin frame and downturned eyes. And the night after that. And after that, like Tommy’s a song stuck in his head, a bit of a melody he heard once and can’t quite forget. He imagines Tommy so many times that when Tommy actually walks through the door, a blur of uneventful nights later, Ian can hardly believe he’s real. He wants more than anything to talk to him again, but he shouldn’t, shouldn’t push himself on Tommy like that. Maybe he’s hoping Ian won’t be here. Maybe that’s why he waited so long.

And then Tommy does something Ian never could have expected, never imagined in all the scenarios he’s played through in his mind. He looks through the crowd until he finds Ian, and then, recognition spreading over his face, Tommy comes right over to him and looks up at his face. He still doesn’t look confident, exactly, and there’s still fear lurking there. But he seems more sure this time. Like he’s made a decision. Like, maybe this time, he knows what he wants. Ian waits for him to make the first move, since he’s obviously psyched himself up for it.

“Hey,” Tommy says. “Do you remember me?”

Ian nods, pushing his surprise away and giving Tommy a tentative smile. He’s just as beautiful as Ian remembers, and there it is, the same draw, the same _pull_ as that first night. Shocking. Magnetic. He feels a little breathless, a little ridiculous -- he can’t believe he has the opportunity to try again. The second chance he never thought he’d get. And this time, he thinks, he won’t be messing it up.

“Yeah, Tommy. You’re hard to forget.”

*


End file.
